


to the north

by melforbes



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Morning, Christmas Presents, suddenly realizing that happy fic is out of character for me lmao oops, tis the season to write fic in bathrooms while avoiding your familiy, who is canon i do not know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melforbes/pseuds/melforbes
Summary: Canon-divergent Christmas fluff: Lord Asriel, Mrs. Coulter, and Lyra open presents on Christmas morning
Relationships: Lord Asriel & Lyra Belacqua, Lord Asriel/Marisa Coulter, Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 107





	to the north

“Every single day,” Lyra said as she kneeled on her parents’ bed, wedging her body between theirs, “you wake me up at seven o’clock sharp and you tell me, _Lyra, good girls wake up early so that they can make the most of their days, and smart girls who become explorers even study before the afternoon._ Yet you choose this day, of all days, to sleep in. I don’t understand it. I simply cannot.”

Though Marisa stirred easily from sleep, Asriel could’ve slept through bombings, so she would need to be the one to quell this disaster, but how? Tell Lyra that she could take one specific box out from under the tree and tear just that one open while waiting for her parents to wake up? Insist on five more minutes in bed? But Lyra rapped on her back, finding the weak link, and insisted, “Get up, get up, _get up!_ “

“Is breakfast on the table?” Asriel mumbled against her pillow; Marisa closed her eyes, hoping to pawn responsibility off on him.

“Does it matter?” Lyra asked, tapping his back twice. “It’s Christmas. Breakfast will come in time.”

“Words of wisdom,” Marisa said, laughing against her pillow.

And then Pan in his ermine form leaped from Lyra’s shoulder to Asriel’s back and started jumping up and down, a silent alarm; meanwhile, the golden monkey curled up with Stelmaria on a little pad on the floor, the two entwined and sleepy, ignoring the girl’s interruptions altogether.

“Lyra, dear,” Marisa said, her voice soft, “go wait in the main room. We’ll be with you shortly.”

“ _Shortly._ “

As she left the room, Lyra mumbled to herself, _shortly, never shortly,_ and though Marisa would have scolded such behavior on any other day, she laughed instead today, and Asriel reached out for her in bed, curling up with her, sleeping in for just a few more minutes. On the pad beside the bed, Stelmaria sighed in pleasure while the golden monkey nuzzled her cheek, warm bodies snuggled together, feeling soft and comfortable as they rested.

But they needed to begin their day, so the extra rest was short-lived, Marisa taking her cashmere robe from the wardrobe and tying it over her pajamas as today’s form of dressing. Though Asriel’s shearling slippers were sprouting holes at the toes, he insisted that these were his favorite, that he didn’t mind little drafts coming in, but still, Marisa looked at them with disdain. _You need new slippers,_ she said without speaking, and he shook his head, made it clear that, even though she had a fresh pair wrapped beneath the tree, he would not feel compelled to wear them around the apartment, but in the north, maybe he would wear them as he readied for bed, thinking of her during his long and tireless expeditions. And though she would never wear them out in public, she still kept sweaters with little holes in the wrists, warm woolens that she wore as base-layers beneath her furs when she traveled, many of them gifts from Asriel that she had had to hide in the back of her closet because she hadn’t wanted her ex-husband to see them. She would need to pull those out and start packing soon, the next trip north so near, the airship chartered and the lodgings arranged, everything in perfect order for January. Now, all that remained - and she clenched her fists at the thought, her nervousness never dissipating - was to tell her daughter that they would be leaving. 

Pulling her from her thoughts, Asriel bought his hand to the small of her back, bringing her gently toward him, leaning in to lazily kiss her, his arms wrapping her up like a warm sweater in winter. They couldn’t take much longer - she didn’t want to know what trouble Lyra was causing throughout the penthouse - but she leaned her forehead against his, thankful for the small and quiet moments in which he made her feel so loved. She’d known a loveless marriage, a marriage for status and influence, and she knew the pain of going to bed next to someone who wouldn’t come near her except for the obligatory marital relations, of sharing breakfast across a long and cold dining table, of making small talk and pretending they could build a life on uncomfortable pleasantries, and though she was now an outcast from the Magisterium, though her prospects of success had fallen away with her daughter’s birth, she felt in these small, quiet moments that every decision she’d made had brought her into a life spent trailblazing the north, researching science that frightened the Magisterium but fascinated her, and loving her daughter so deeply despite the mess of her origins, a life of true beauty. Now, she went to bed feeling loved, and on Christmas, she woke to Lyra jumping into their bed, insisting that her parents wake up when all they really wanted to do was snuggle up and sleep for five more minutes. Maybe she wasn’t the powerful woman she’d once pictured herself becoming, but she was happy, and she knew with conviction that that happiness rivaled any power she could ever wield. She knew that that happiness was far superior.

In the main room, Lyra shook the presents tagged with her name, Pan climbing over the wrapped boxes and tangling himself in the lights on the tree until Lyra could find and gently free him from their clutches. When Marisa and Asriel purchased their home, they’d been swayed by this vast main room, a beautiful fireplace in one corner and a wide window seat perfect for reading or lessons in the other, endless shelves of books covering the walls, armchairs and couches artfully positioned to fit either posh parties or family gatherings, explorer’s club meetings or Lyra’s flute lessons. The plush carpet was soft beneath Marisa’s feet, and warm light shone in through the windows, golden wallpaper illuminating with the sunlight, a painted portrait of their family - Pantalaimon on Lyra’s shoulder, Stelmaria sitting next to Lyra, and Marisa and Asriel behind their daughter, the golden monkey nestled in Marisa’s arms - hanging above the fireplace. The room was warm and shimmering, so inviting that Marisa smiled at the thought of sitting down on the carpet and watching Lyra open the presents they’d chosen and wrapped for her. 

Now, they had one couch in storage so that they could fit in their tall, elegant Christmas tree, the white lights making the gold ornaments hung on red ribbons sparkle against the pine. Every year, they joined as a family to hang the emblematic ornaments - an airship to commemorate their first trip to Oxford as a family, a little wreath engraved with the year of Lyra’s first Christmas, a bear to remind them of their many negotiations in the north - on their tree, Marisa lifting Lyra up to reach the higher branches and kissing Lyra’s cheek before setting the girl back down, Asriel insisting on a long and tireless photograph of their family together in front of the decorated tree each year. He liked to keep one of those pictures in his rucksack when he traveled, a peaceful reminder of a warm and beautiful place, his daughter’s smiling face and his wife’s half-solemn one - she struggled to look anything but grim in photographs - staring back at him. On Christmas Day, the tree grew even more spectacular with all of the presents nestled beneath its branches, bright red paper boxes exciting all who entered, the crackling fire and scent of pine bringing warm comfort to the room. When Lyra turned around to find her parents coming into the main room, her face lit up, and Marisa and Asriel braced themselves for the oncoming Lyra energy, so much brighter and more ambitious than either of theirs, so much more hopeful. She kept them honest in that way, reminding them of their younger selves, reminding them to seek out the good.

“Open mine first,” Lyra insisted as she picked up two little packages, the wrapping paper mismatched with that of the other presents, the paper creases showing that a child’s hands had wrapped these packages.

Lyra sat down on the carpet in front of the tree, then waited not-so-patiently for Marisa and Asriel to do the same and then take the outstretched presents. Right hand over left, their ring fingers matched, even so many years later it felt so good to be married, to live openly rather than in secret, to love deeply and truly, to kiss outside of their home, to have a place to call _their home_ at all. And they unwrapped two of the same item, a round and silver metal object latched tightly; they each unhinged the latch to find a compass inside directing them both to the same true north, the red direction hand shining beneath the lights of the Christmas tree.

“I know you’re going north again,” Lyra said, making Marisa wince; they’d tried to keep their trip a secret, a topic for a later date, something to bring up after the holidays, but Lyra made it hard to keep secrets, if not for her tenacity and cunning then for her deep and disconcerting love for her parents. When Marisa had fallen pregnant, she’d thought she could be unattached to this baby, that she could deny the child and remove herself from the experience of motherhood, but she found that Lyra demanded more of her, that their child was incapable of being ignored, and though Marisa loved her daughter deeply, she sometimes wished she loved her less so that she wouldn’t hurt her daughter with these trips so often, so that she wouldn’t hurt her daughter through not being good enough. “You’re both bad at keeping secrets. I found these and thought they could help guide you home.”

Marisa tilted the compass in her palm, making the red hand bob back and forth. Her daughter, Marisa would carry this in the pocket of her coat and think of her daughter, the soft weight grounding her, the cold silver a constant reminder of her beautiful home. Maybe it was sweeter, then, to love someone who made time apart ache and reunions feel all the more wonderful. Looking to Asriel, she saw her emotions reflected in his eyes, the same feeling, the wonder, the anxiety, the fear. _Are we doing the right thing?_ they both wondered. _Are we making the right choice?_

“Thank you,” Marisa said, piecing Lyra’s hair behind her ear, caressing her daughter’s cheek. “What a thoughtful gift.”

And Asriel pulled Lyra close for a rough-and-tumble hug and forehead kiss, making Lyra giggle with delight at his form of thanks. He squeezed their daughter, but she pushed him away, shook her head. Now that the gifts for the parents had been opened, it was Lyra’s time to shine; Pantalaimon padded over toward one big box, ermine paws resting on the paper, one little ear pressed to the side of the present as if to determine the contents by sound.

“How about you open that one first?” Marisa said, nodding toward Pan’s box.

And of course Lyra tore through the paper with ease, her quickness making Marisa and Asriel laugh as she pulled the shoebox out from under the paper, unfolded the sides, revealed a pair of sealskin boots lined with arctic furs, warm and bulky, oiled in order to be waterproof.

“Just like yours,” Lyra said, looking to her mother.

And Marisa’s own pair were waiting in her wardrobe for the next trip north, her boots worn-in and comfortable, the feeling of them like a second skin. Whenever she returned to London, she went through a few days of discomfort missing her boots though eventually she relished in her heeled shoes again, little snakeskin pumps that were so lightweight by comparison. Once, after returning from a trip taken without Asriel, Marisa found Lyra going through her mother’s wardrobe and trying on those comfortable boots, slipping into her mother’s thick fur coat and puffing up her chest, wearing a costume of someone she admired, and because Lyra only wore the clothes for a few moments, treating the furs with great care and gently hanging back up the coat, Marisa had been willing to pretend she hadn’t seen anything happen.

“Just like mine,” Marisa said, as if she hadn’t sought out the same cobbler and presented him with her own boots for comparison. As if she hadn’t had these made just like hers on purpose.

The next box was flatter but still thick; Stelmaria nudged the package onto Lyra’s lap, then stretched and settled in front of the fire, the golden monkey crawling over to join her. As Lyra peeled back the paper, she found the telltale gold lettering on the box inside, her mother’s favorite department store, the place where all of the nice dresses they both owned came from. Another dress? Marisa saw how Lyra’s face faltered, not another pretty thing, she would wear the pretty things but liked dresses with give in the sleeves better, skirts that she could muck up while playing with the neighborhood children. But when Lyra opened the box, she found not a silk party dress but a fur-lined coat, hearty and cozy, far more durable and warm than her nice peacoat or her cold-weather play-clothes. This was a coat meant to keep its wearer warm in the coldest of climates, the tight buttons holding in body heat, the furs insulating, the hood keeping the elements away, and as Lyra made her way through the boxes Asriel offered next - wool mittens, a warm knit hat as well as a bulky fur one, a thick scarf - a smile bloomed across her young face, the revelation coming in small bursts, every new gift telling her what her parents had tried so hard to keep secret.

“These are all too warm for London,” Lyra said, brimming with excitement. “I can’t possibly wear these clothes here.”

And Pantalaimon sat upright in Lyra’s lap, ermine ears pricking up, attention going back and forth between Lyra and her parents, waiting for the inevitable but impossible answer.

“We’ll be leaving midway through January,” Asriel said, his smile wide. “This time, we’d like you to join us.”

And Lyra sprung into their arms, almost tackling her parents with the hug, and they laughed together as they all held each other, bodies flush as they sat on the thick carpet, the bright tree shimmering in the background, Lyra’s hardy cold-weather clothes left neatly in their boxes, warm gloves, boots that matched her mother’s, coat-pockets deep enough to fit compasses that would guide them home.

“This is the best Christmas ever,” Lyra said.

And they held each other until breakfast was served.


End file.
